


Champion of the Rose

by Voxynqueen



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7040875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voxynqueen/pseuds/Voxynqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years have passed since Chris Larabee left Four Corners without word and no-one's heard a whisper since. A startling discovery in Mr Jenkins' bookstore one morning leaves just one question: Who has sold Mary Travis' sad story to a romance novelist? Set 3.25 years after Serpents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, thank you to C.I. TigerFan, who through a review of my story got me watching, and now owning the complete series of The Magnificent Seven on DVD. Thanks!
> 
> Secondly, I'm not a 'Western' buff. I don't know the language well, I don't know why the stable is called a livery?, and I don't know much of the culture expect for what I could pick up from tv and movies. So, please forgive a foreigner's attempt at writing a western fan fiction.
> 
> Thirdly, the story. As with all tv shows that end before their time, I don't watch the last episode. I hate how they kill everybody, or do something completely ridiculous to the final episodes. So this story is taken three years after 'Serpents', incidentally I only finished watching last week. As the story wasn't complete in my eye, I jumped on my tablet and typed non-stop for three days. So, it's raw, no beta. But at least the next few chapters are mostly done. I have no idea where I'm going with this story, except that I couldn't leave the ending the way it was - without a happy ending.  
>  
> 
> PS: the '. . .' means change between memory sequence and real time - because this website don't like italics :(

 

 

Morning had become a bustling business in the summer months in the thriving town of Four Corners, people preferring to conclude their affairs before the sun set too high in the sky. Patrons filled the tenders, the town alive with prosperity.

The lawlessness of merely five years ago was nothing but a footnote, a charming historic ‘did you know’ during polite conversation.

Five years and any of the long term residents of Four Corners told fables over whiskey or tea and scones about the seven gunfighters who answered the call. From the young greenhorn to the older and wise preacher, the tales of those seven men grew even more fantastic with each telling.

And none of the seven was more infamous than their leader, Chris Larabee, whose wife and son had been murdered and the rogue having sworn vengeance upon those responsible. With the man himself having quitted the town three years earlier, nowadays there was little discouragement for the addition of more fiction; the stories had gone beyond the realm of ridiculousness. 

Since the sudden departure of their leader, the majority of the seven had since moved on, seeking new horizons and opportunities elsewhere where the streets weren’t filled with newcomers every other day.

Three, however, had chosen to remain having something of an investment in the town; John ‘JD’ Dunne, Nathan Jackson, and Ezra Standish.

One whom the stories thankfully mostly omitted was Mrs Mary Travis’ and her involvement with the seven. A widow with a young son, she was glad of the lack notoriety afforded to her, having her own famous name to contend with as she continued to build her successful and highly respected newspaper, now employing a half dozen people. 

Mary Travis’ fame came via her own means; the editor of an influential newspaper, a well respected widow and firm advocate for women's rights, and the mix of beauty and tenacity had made her one of the more noticeable residents of Four Corners.

Notable to some and the fancy of many men.

Though mostly a passing fancy, for not since the exit of Chris Larabee from the town was Mrs Travis sighted looking at any man in a way that may have suggested her interest in remarrying.

Of course, there were still those who tried, even more so since Larabee left. But it was a fool who didn’t realise the woman's heart was no longer up for the taking.

A heart pained by not one, but two heartbreaks.

As Mary wandered through the crowded marketplace on that sultry morning, she passed many new faces and school her face pleasant as ladies always did and nodded to those who stood aside to allow her passage or dipped their hat. A few faces were recognisable and she bidded them good morning with a polite smile but didn’t stop.

This morning was an exciting one; Mr Jenkins had promised her the delivery of the new school books for her son Billy today. 

It was bittersweet though, because although Mary was excited for the arrival of books taken from the syllabus of some of the finest schools in the cities, her son would rather gone fishing or hunting then read any of them. 

Billy Travis was a smart boy of eleven now, but cared not for the things his mother did. Billy didn’t understand the excitement of books from the city schools, or to spend hours upon hours reading. He prefered being outdoors, or doing chores around the town for money. He especially loved going out riding on his young hobby-horse, Windbag.  Buck Wilmington had ridding back into town six months ago for a short stopover and bringing him a belated eleventh birthday present; a pony. 

Buck had been one of the seven, but these days frequented towns more to the south towards Mexico. His tastes were for a quieter town, with plenty of women. He'd come for the night, had a quiet word with Billy, then went on his way the next morning.

Still Billy was over the moon with his present and has since insisted on daily rides. Mary didn’t begrudge him and allowed him as much freedom to do the things he loved, as long as his schooling was up to date and his chores at home were done.

Reaching Mr Jenkins shop, Mary went inside and approached the owner with a great big smile, “Mr Jenkins, good morning. Today is the day.”

“Good morning, Mrs Travis. As promised, I have delivery of your order.”

“Oh wonderful,” she grinned broadly, “Billy will be so pleased.” Well he wouldn't be but she was. She was enough for both of them.

“Wait one moment and I'll go fetch it for you.”

“Thank you.”

While Mr Jenkins went out back, Mary picked up a dime book and flicked through the pages. Billy enjoyed reading those books, stories of heroes with pistols and rifles, riding out into the sunset. His favourite was The Magnificent Seven, for obvious reasons. Perhaps if she could find one or two newer stories, it might ease him into the arrival of the new school books.

Flicking through the thin books, her eyes scanned the titles. She had a good memory of all the ones Billy already owned-

“Excuse me Mrs, but you simply have to be her.”

Taken aback, Mary looked to her right and saw a pretty woman about her own age, perhaps younger, her face broadly smiling, her eyes wide with excitement, “I beg your pardon?”

The woman was in a pretty peacock-blue coloured dress of fine make and wore a hat adorned with peacock feathers that had little to do with keeping sun off her fair face, “Oh, you must be her. I cannot see it anyother way.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The woman laughed, “Oh, forgive me. I am Miss June. I am simply the biggest fan of the book, the Champion of the Rose and come my vacation, I got myself on the train to Four Corners to seek you out.”

“The Champion of the Rose?”

“You don’t know it? The most delightful book, if a little sad. When I heard the characters were based off the townsfolk of Four Corners, I had to come see for myself.”

Mary smiled politely, “I am sorry Miss June, you must have me mistaken with another. I have not been written in any novel.” She faced the woman fully and extended her welcome, “I work at the newspaper, the Clarion News. I am Mrs Travis.”

“How do you do, Mrs Travis,” she took her hand with an even broader grin and Mary felt compelled to step away from her. “My my, never did I imagine you’d be this pretty.”

Mary frowned, “I am sorry, but I am at a loss.”

Miss June chuckled, “You simply must be her; the Rose!”

Nodding incredulously, she asked, “The Rose from the Champion of the Rose?”

“Exactly!”

Still nodding, Mary really wished Mr Jenkins would hurry up, “I assure you, Miss June, I am no heroin in a book. I am just a mother who runs the local newspaper.”

“Oh,” she shook her head, “but you have to be. See here-” she pulled a book out of her clutch bag and held it out to her. “A woman with unsurpassed beauty. Hair the colour of cornsilk, eyes of smokey grey, lips red like a desert rose,” Miss June recited without looking at the book. “Independent, courageous and her heart taken by the gunslinger who saved her town.”

Mary took the book from her, glancing at it, looking nothing more like a dime-shelf romance. “And from that vague description, you think this woman is me?”

“Oh, no. Much more. You did just say you work for a newspaper?”

“I do.”

Miss June gleamed excited, “Please, Mrs. Is your father in law a judge?”

The breath escaped Mary.

“And did you not stand in front of a lynch gang, trying to stop the negro doctor from hanging, sorry if I sound in delicate.”

Mary felt dizzy, “How do you know all this?”

The other woman held up the book still in Mary's hand, “It's all in here. Do you think I could press you for an autograph?”

Mary looked from the book back to Miss June, “Autograph?” 

“Please. That would truly make this little adventure of mine completely wonderful. And I don’t suppose you could also tell me where the Champion is these days? That would be so delightful to have both your autographs, side by side. For my collection you understand.”

Mary shook her head, “I don't understand. Who would’ve done this?” Snapping her focus sharply back to the woman, she demanded, “Who is the author?”

Miss June was still smiling, “Why it's Mrs Dorothy Fletcher, a gift from god himself to the art of romance genre.”

“I never heard of her. How could someone write so much about me when I don’t even know her.”

“I can not answer that but would you sign my book? And where can I find the handsome rogue?”

“Mrs Travis? Here it is, sorry for the delay. My eyes aren’t as good as the used to be.”

Mary looked back over her shoulder at Mr Jenkins, struggling with a large box parcel of books, then returned to the woman, “I'm sorry but I have business to attend to. Would you meet me later at my office, Miss June? I would like to have a chance to look at this book first. Mr Jenkins?” she looked to him and pointed to Miss June’s hand, “By any chance do you have this book?”

Mr Jenkins peered in close, “Unfortunately not. We don’t stock a lot of dime-shelf romances.”

“No need,” Miss June grinned, “Please, take mine. I always keep a second copy in my luggage. Just in case, you know, thieves and such.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and watched the woman head towards the door, “Say two o’clock, at the Clarion News?”

Once the door closed, she whirled on Mr Jenkins, “Forgive me, Mr Jenkins. That woman has quite taken me by surprise.”

The old man nodded, “more and more new folk are moving to the region these days, bringing all types. Must make you yearn for the old days.”

Mary thought about the old days, seeing Nathan being dragged away to be hanged because his patient died of an incurable disease.

Then of course hers thoughts turned to Chris and caused her already palpitating heart to ache, just as it always did when her thoughts strayed upon him.

 

 

“Gentlemen?” Mary strode up to where the last remaining three of the seven hired guns, JD, Nathan, and Ezra sat at the table outside the saloon.

“Mrs Travis.”

“Mary,” Nathan stood up and pulled out a chair for her.

“Mrs Travis? Joining us on this fine day for an equally fine beverage?”

Mary took the seat, “Thank you. I need to discuss something with the three of you. It’s a little, embarrassing.”

“You know you can talk to us,” JD smiled.

Mary held up the book, “Have any of you heard about this?”

Nathan peered in close to read the title, “Champion of the Rose? No, ma’am.”

JD shook his head.

Ezra laughed lightly, “I don’t often indulge in the quaint literature of women-folk.”

Mary tossed the book into the middle of the table and sat forward, “This book is of me.”

“You?”

“What do you mean?”

She breathed in, “It’s as if someone has taken two years of my life and turned it into fanciful fiction.”

“You mean there are similarities?”

“No. I’m saying it’s all about me. From the moment those men tried to hang you, up until,” she stopped, “up until three years ago.”

“When Chris, Vin, Buck and Josiah left?”

She nodded, “Exactly. I mean, the author embellished a whole lot but, the essential parts of those two years are in there.”

“And it centres on you?” 

Swallowing, she admitted, “And Chris.”

JD laughed, “you sure you didn’t write it.”

“JD, I’m serious. Someone has taken events of my life, some of it personal, things said or done only amongst my friends and put it into this book.”

“That’d creep you out. Heck, that’d creep me out.”

“I am creeped out, Nathan. Whomever this Dorothy Fletcher is, she knows a whole lot about me.”

“Do you mind?”

Mary looked at Ezra, “Just please do remember some of the more colourful scenes are completely fictional.”

Ezra nodded, taken the book from the table, “I’ve read some of my mother’s collection of dime-shelf romances. I’ll try not to picture you with the hero during the more lavish romantic scenes.”

“So Chris is the hero?” JD asked.

“Who else would it be,” Ezra scoffed.

Mary set her jaw, “What do you mean?”

“Well, it could’ve only been Chris,” Nathan put forth delicately before the others could answer. “The only one of us who it could be.”

“And why do you say that, Mr Jackson? Surely a lady as fine as Mrs Travis would find romance with a gentlemen like me.”

Mary sighed, “The name in the book is Charlie but it’s Chris.”

Ezra scoffed then started at the first page.

“How did you come by this?”

“A women in the bookstore. She said she’d come out here from the city to find the real Rose and Charlie. She gave me this book to sign and was going to come by my office at two o’clock but she never showed.”

“Look, Mary, I know this is weird but I don’t know if it's worth getting upset about. Chris was well known, not just around here, but throughout the entire south-west-”

“This is more than that! This isn’t people talking gossip over the fence, this is someone going through my life.”

“But you’re not named.”

“Anyone around here reads it, they’ll know who it’s portraying.”

“And if it’s as steamy and suggestive as most other novels of this genre, you certainly wouldn’t want certain people reading it.”

“Mr Standish,” Mary ground.

Ezra held up his hand, “No, no, I understand. What woman doesn’t dream of being in a romantic novel with Chris Larabee, right?”

“Mr Standish.”

“Ezra,” Nathan warned.

“Not like he’s a suave and charming gentlemen of sophistication-”

“Be jealous some other time,” JD growled, then looked at her, “Got another copy?”

“No,” she stressed, “And once I find out who wrote it, this one and any other copy I find will be destroyed. One big bon-fire.”

JD sat forward with a sympathetic smile, “If it helps, I don’t think Chris’d be caught reading this type of book anyway.”

“Well, thank you JD. But that’s only half the problem. If people around here get wind of this-”

“We won’t tell ‘em.”

“And how someone was able to find out so much about me?”

“Might be a prudent measure to take notice of anyone following or asking questions of you,” Ezra suggested from behind the book.

That scared Mary, “Why?”

“This woman who gave you the book. She makes an appointment then fails to turn up. Then as you say, someone’s gone through your life. Might be cause for concern.”

“All right. But I’m going to wire my solicitor in the morning.”

“Nothing they can do I fear,” he said, continuing to read, “if neither you nor Chris are actually named, then they’ll say it’s just coincidence.”

“Coincidence? Rose’s son Johnny was witness to his father’s death and Charlie saves him from the murderers who were hunting him.”

“Shhh!” Ezra admonished, “You are spoiling it.”

“We’ll look around, Mary, ask some discrete questions.”

“Thank you.” She stood and the three men stood too, “Please, don’t go showing it around.”

Ezra grinned, “I give you my word. I’ll return the book to you tomorrow.”

 

 

“She watched him ride out, each of his horse’s stride, like hammer to anvil, striking agony to her already trembling heart, waiting, hoping he would turn back to look upon her, show that he did care. Just one look, one final look, that’s all she needed. 

“But he didn’t. Even long after the figure’s shadowy slow ride across the plain disappeared, she stood unmoving. Unfeeling to the cold night air, unfeeling to the world around her. Numb. He had been her champion. Even more he’d been her love. With the last rays of light drifting beneath the horizon, Rose continue to weep.”

Ezra finished reading aloud the last page, snapped the book shut, “A bit sentimental for my tastes, but not an entirely bad story.”

Mary shook her head in disgust and took the book from him, and sat down at the table in Exra’s saloon, “It’s nonsense. None of that happened.”

“Oh, I would assume so. But I do have to give credit where due. This Dorothy, well she’s done her research. A lot was, shall we say, embellished, yet everything else-”

“Was dead on. How could she have known I rode into Purgatorio? I didn’t tell anyone. Only Chris and Buck knew.”

“Or during that wagon-train we went on. How would anyone know Chris watched with ‘brooding eyes’ while you and your beau danced together in the moonlight?”

“He did not watch with brooding eyes. But I agree. Some of the things in there, they did happen.”

“You mean the one where you bravely expressed to the departing Chris,” he cleared his throat, “forgive me, the departing Charlie your undying love-?”

“Of course not!”

Ezra held up his hands, “Sorry, but it’s not like I’d know that one. Heck, I didn’t even known he’d gone until two days later.”

“Mr Standish,” she sighed and moved to sit down at the chair opposite, “Ezra. It was never like that with Chris. We were friends-”

“Uh, Mary?” Ezra stopped her gently, “Of all many people in this here fair town, I am not one of the simpletons. Please do not mistake me for one.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m saying just because Mr Larabee was blind, doesn’t mean the rest of us were.”

Mary looked away instead of seeing the knowing look on his face.

“We all saw it. Everyone of us. We all knew. But Chris? Well, I guess he either didn’t see it or was too preoccupied.”

Mary didn’t reply to that. What could she say? It was the truth, and no matter how much she could try to deny it, apparently they already knew how she’d felt about Chris. They’d known for some time. “This book,” she finally looked back to Ezra, “could ruin my life.”

Ezra stared at her for a moment, “Don’t be so sure. Might make it a tad uncomfortable for a while, especially around here. However, my two remaining brothers and I will do all we can to get to the bottom of this.”

Mary smiled at him, “I would be in your debt.”

“Mrs Travis, how many times must I caution you about saying words like that to a con-man?”

Mary laughed.

“If you don’t object, Nathan, JD and I we were thinking we’d like to bring in some help. Purely precautionary, mind.”

Swallowing, she asked, “Who?”

“Not Mr Larabee, if that be your worry. No, I’m afraid I ain’t heard anything of him in years. Don’t even know if he still lives-” Ezra stopped, and looked down with a sigh, “Sorry, Mary.”

“I know,” she clenched her fists, “I know there’s a good chance that is indeed the case; dead, or rotting away on booze in some stinking brothel-”

“The point is we don’t know,” Ezra broke in gently. “No, we thought we’d bring in Josiah. Rumour has him heading back in this general direction anyway. We thought we’d wire a few towns along the general route, get him to hurry on.”

Mary nodded, “I know that it may seem trivial-”

“Nothing trivial about someone snooping around. If someone’s stalking ya, we will discover them.”

 

 

Inez put down the book, “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Mary snorted very unladylike, “It’s a load of fanciful rubbish!”

“Bueno, I prefer happy endings but apart from that it’s a nice story. Muy romantico.”

Mary had given the book to Inez to read, for the pure reason of having another woman understand what was going on.

And of course sympathy, for reading the book had torn open some of Mary’s deepest wounds.“Inez, I don’t know how to ask this, but-”

“Did I tell?” her friend scoffed, completely unoffended, “who would I tell? Perhaps I really should’ve told señor Larabee. That’s who I should’ve told.”

Mary took Inez’ hand with a warm, thankful smile. She should’ve known better than to question her friend. In the last four years, her and Inez had become close friends, confidants in every measure of the word. “I’m sorry. You understand I had to ask. I cannot understand how this could’ve happened.”

“Well, some of it was easy to see. For example, all the time you would stare out the window of the Clarion and watch him from across the street. I saw you myself, so many times. Remember the first time I caught you in the act?”

. . . 

“Good morning, Mary!” Inez came bursting through the front door of the Clarion.

Mary jumped back away from the window in a mixture of surprise and embarrassment, “Ah, good morning Inez.”

Inez looked out through the door glass, “Are you spying on someone?”

“Spying? Of course not. I was, simply, keeping an eye out for Mrs Potter. We are having tea later.”

Inez nodded, “She is there,” she pointed, “Just there.”

“Oh,” she felt her face heat up, “Good. Well, I will just catch her later. I have some work to finish first.”

Smiling good naturedly, Inez wandered leisurely towards her, “He is looking muy handsome today, no?”

Having pretended to return to her work, Mary looked up feigning ignorance, “I’m sorry, who?”

“The man across the street, señor Larabee; the one you were spying.”

“Inez,” she almost tripped over her desk, “I assure you, I was not spying on Mr Larabee.”

“Yes, true. Of all the many men in this town, I would’ve chosen younger, not so old.”

“Mr Larabee is not old,” she counted without thinking.

Inez grinned, “No, you are right. He is handsome and young enough to marry.”

Mary looked back down to her papers, “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Bueno, if you haven’t, then you won’t mind if do?”

A snake slithered into her belly, “By all means.”

Inez laughed, “Please, Mary, your face makes the sun feel cold. I am teasing.”

It had been two months since Inez had come to their little town, and since the incident between Buck Wilmington and Don Paulo, Mary had helped the young woman settle. “Please, I don’t have time for teasing today. I am running behind.”

“Then perhaps I should go ask señor Larabee to stand somewhere else? So he will not distract you from your work.”

“Inez-”

“Oh dios mio, this is not the first time I see you. When will you give up the charade?”

Mary sighed, “Inez, there is no charade; Mr Larabee and I are friends. Nothing more.”

“That does not mean you do not wish it.”

Looking at the earnest and beautiful, full of life, happy face of her once troubled friend, Mary felt she had to concede. There was just something in the younger woman Mary could not resist against. Almost choking the words, she whispered to herself, “If wishes were fishes we’d all swim in riches.”

“Then it’s time you bought a rod for the fish!”

Despite her mood, she smiled, “That’s not what the rhyme means.”

Inez waved that away, and went to the window, “For how long have you done this? Watch him through the window this way?”

She sighed, just how long had it been, “Little over a year.” Mary looked up at her friend with a sad smile, “though not always through windows.”

“No, no, no,” Inez marched back to her desk and sat down beside her, “Why have you let this go on this long.”

“Chris is my friend,” Mary told her, then smiled, “You know, when he first came to town, I completely misjudged the man. I thought he was the same as any gunslinger who swept through the town. When I realised I’d made a mistake, I tried to apologise and he shot me down.”

“For apologising?”

She scoffed at herself, “Well, I think it more how I tried to apologise. The wrong way.”

Inez leaned over her desk with her elbow propping her up and grinning, “And yet?”

“And yet,” she pursed her lips trying to stop her smiling like a debutant, “no matter how much we disagreed or were at odds with one another back then, I was,” she paused, “hooked.”

“Like the fishes.”

Mary chuckled, “like the fishes.”

. . .

 

“You know, Ezra told me the same thing yesterday. Even Nathan knew.” Mary shook herself, “Was I really so obvious?”

Inez shrugged, “Maybe not to those who don’t know you so well.” Then she frowned, “Spying through glass is one thing, but what about the home cooked meal competition for the town picnic? How did this author know about that?“ 

 

 . . .

“Are you certain, Billy? Doesn’t seem at all special.”

Billy nodded empathetically, “Chris said so months ago when we’re fishing. I was telling him my favourite birthday supper was always-”

“Beef Bourguignon,” she supplied automatically.

“Yeah, beef stew with the bacon bits and potato mash. Then Chris said when he was a kid, his mama always made chicken pie.”

Mary sighed, “Okay.”

“What is wrong?” Inez asked from behind her cooktop, “What is so wrong with chicken pie? And so easy to make lots and lots, enough for everyone at the picnic.”

Mary patted Billy on the head and left him to his studies at the dinner table and went to stand beside Inez, “There are so many variations. And I’ve never made a pie before that wasn’t apple.”

“We’ll do a simple recipe.”

“Simple? Is that not a little counterproductive?” Mary’s eyes narrowed teasingly, “Or are you just trying to ensure you win the competition?”

Inez grinned, “Ah, some of the simplest things in life can be the hardest to do right. And if we practice, your simple chicken pie will wow the judges and ensure it will only be you and I fighting for the win.”

“I don’t know, Inez. Maybe this is a bad idea. I should just make shepherd's casserole like I normally do.”

“Mary,” Inez put down her wooden spoon and faced her, “Was it not last year you say to me how you like to show up Mrs Cunningham. Who, I will remind you said upon winning, ‘some women should stick to ink and paper and not to dabble in culinary arts’.”

Mary’s shoulders clenched, “There is no need to remind me.”

“And did you not say you like do something nice for señor Larabee?”

This time her muscles almost shattered her spine, “I did but maybe this is too obvious-”

“Oh, dios mio. How will he ever know if you will not be obvious with him?”

Mary searched her friend’s face, “maybe it’s best to leave things the way they are.”

Inez threw up her hands, “And have you little miss sad face forever? Never! You will trust me, with my help we will put Mrs Cunningham down notches and make your hombre notice you.”

“Chris already notices mama,” Billy piped up from the table, “he speaks to her all the time.”

She pointed to Billy victoriously, “there, you see.” 

“Handsome Billy, we need him to notice your mama in a new way. And you must help. You must convince señor Larabee to come to the picnic.”

Billy sighed, “I already asked him. He said maybe.”

“Bueno, you must keep asking.” Inez waved her to the table with a steaming pot of tea, “Come, we must discuss recipes.”

Taking a seat, she looked to her son with his nose still buried in his school books, “Billy, you know not to talk about this to anyone besides Miss Inez and I?” That was Mary’s biggest fear; Billy had a habit of unknowingly revealing secrets. She hoped after the last couple of incidences where he’d accidently let secrets out, he’d learnt his lesson.

“I know, mama,” Billy looked up at her with a broad smile, “I won’t say nothing. I want Chris to be my pa.”

She blanched, “That is exactly the kind of thing you mustn’t say, sweetheart.”

Billy’s smile didn’t budge, “I know. I promise I won’t say nothing.”

 

One week later and Mary was convinced the gravy for the pies needed extra pepper. 

Inez disagreed.

“Billy? What do you think?”

“But mama,” moaned, throwing his packed bag over his shoulder, “Chris will be waiting.”

“Won’t take momentito, niño,” said Inez, chasing after him with a spoonful of gravy.

“No,” Billy whinged, scooting away from his mother’s friend. “I don’t wanna.”

“Billy,” Mary said sternly, although she couldn’t really blame him; he’d been the taste-testing-goat for the passed week.

“Billy?”

Inez’s eyes lit up and held onto Billy so he couldn’t run out of the building, “Come in, señor Larabee. You’re just in time.”

Mary felt her face warm, and she whispered urgently, “What are you doing? He mustn’t see!”

Inez smirked and shook her head, “Trust me.”

Chris walked into the kitchen, “Billy you ready?” He looked at both of the women, “Just in time for?”

“Ah, we are in crisis!” Inez swept forward, holding out a fresh spoonful of gravy, “we are in disagreement. Please, you must taste this.”

Chris calculating eyes watched both of them warily, “What’s this for?”

“The picnic tomorrow? You are coming, no?”

“Maybe,” he said noncommittally.

“Good, now you must taste this? Es muy importante.”

Chris eyed the spoon, “Why?”

“It’s nothing-” Mary started.

“No, no, is not nothing. Last year Mrs Cunningham made big fuss so this year we are having vengeance.”

He looked at her questioning, “vengeance?” 

“Maybe just a little culinary war,” Mary smiled.

Inez smiled too, “Si, señor. We have been preparing all week! Either Mary or I must win the competition and put Mrs Cunningham back to her place.” She waved to the spoon, “So please?”

He frowned, “I don’t know much about cooking.”

“But you have tongue, no? I make you a deal. You taste, I ask question, you answer yes or no.”

He almost smiled, his eyes once again looking at her, “Alright.”

Inez waited a moment for him to taste, “You have good taste. Hold memory of it. So, do you like?”

“Yes,” Chris answered.

Mary couldn’t contain her smile.

Inez waved at him, “Good, good. Most important, do you think more pepper is needed?”

His head shook marginally, “No.”

“Ah perfecto! Thank you, señor Larabee,” Inez tapped Mary’s arm, “You see? I tell you so.”

Giving a good natured laugh, she gestured towards Billy, “Billy has been ready since sunup. He says you’re going somewhere special today?”

“Dunno ‘bout special but we’re gonna be picking out couple new horses at the stockyards.”

“Perhaps he’s dreaming about his own horse one day?”

Chris shrugged, “at his age? It’d be a pony.”

 

The day of the picnic turned out to be a beautiful spring day.

“Never in my life have I tasted a better chicken pie, Mrs Travis!”

Mary smiled in gratitude, “Thank you, JD.”

“I sure hope you’ll have some left over later?”

“Well,” Mary tried not to look around into the crowd with obvious hope, “We’ll have to see. There needs to be some for the judges to try after-all.”

“If there is some left though-”

“Don’t be a glutton, JD,” Nathan nudged the younger man along, “really excellent pie, Mary.”

“Thank you, Nathan.”

Nathan smiled and went to move along in the line.

“Ah, Nathan,” she tried to speak casually, “There seems to be some people missing. I would have expected to see the others here too.”

“You mean Chris and the others?” JD pushed back into Nathan trying to grab another slice, “last I saw, they was still in the saloon. Probably on their second bottle each by now.”

“Oh,” she tried to stop herself from sounding as crushed as she felt, “I guess I just thought they might have come today. Many people consider them townspeople now.”

Nathan caught her eye and said gently, “They probably had something just needed doing. I didn’t see Chris in the saloon when I went passed.”

“I’m sure,” Mary swallowed against the swell in her throat and put on her best smile, “would you like another slice Nathan?”

“Thank you, ma’am, I would.”

When Nathan and JD had moved on to the next stall, she looked to the stall beside hers.

Inez stopped serving to send her a sympathetic look and a supportive smile. Beside her, Billy took her hand, “I’m sorry, mama. I reminded him like you said.”

Mary took a long breath before facing the disappointed face of her son, “It’s alright, sweetheart. We cannot expect Mr Larabee to be around all the time, now can we?”

In the end Inez took first prize, Mary second, and a scandalised Mrs Cunningham took third. 

Mary’s smile remained on her face as was expected of her, but her vengeance over Mrs Cunningham did little to lift the hollow disappointment hovering around in her heart . . .

 

. . . 

“Besides us two and Billy, no-one could’ve heard our conversations in the kitchen.”

“Unless someone was spying?”

A loud knock came from the front door, “Mrs Travis. Telegram.”

“Who could it be from?”

Mary shuffled her way towards the front door, “I wired Oren. I wanted his opinion on getting the publishers to pull the book.”

Mary had no idea how much of an impact the emergence of a simple dime-shelf book would come to affect her life.


	2. Out of Print

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not entirely sure where this story is headed
> 
> Still no beta, so still 'raw'.
> 
> Still no Chris . . .
> 
> Reminder: the '. . .' indicates switch from real time to memory and back again - since the website doesn't like italics.

The telegram was indeed from Oren as expected, but Mary walked back inside to where Inez was waiting with a frown.

“From the Judge, no?”

“It is, but,” she tore her eyes from the words, “but says he was already aware of the book; a copy was left by the front door of his residence. No note. He also says he publishers will not pull the book and there’s no legal foothold to take the matter further.” 

“Is that all he said?”

Mary handed her over the telegram, “He says for me to wait for him here and try not to worry.”

Inez threw the telegram on the table with a loud scoff, “I know telegrams are expensive, but he could’ve given more details!”

“Like for how long he’s known about this and not said a word?”

“Precisely!”

“Could be he was waiting until he knew more?”

“Could be anything!” Inez slapped the table, “Come. We’re not going to sit here worrying. Let’s us begin investigating.”

“Investigating?”

“Si, you’re a journalist. What journalist would let this happen unchallenged, uninvestigated?”

Mary’s smile grew and grew, “Your right, Inez. Mary Travis doesn’t go down without a fight.”

Inez go up, “Where first?”

“The telegraph office. This Dorothy Fletcher will surely be contactable by her fans. Well, I wish to tell her how much her book has thrilled me.”

 

Billy knew every corner of Four Corners. Every nook, every hidden refuge. However, when his mother was in a bad mood, Billy knew the best place to be was not within the town limits at all. 

Having witnessed her temperament last night, along with the stack of pristine new school books, Billy concluded she was upset because of his lack of enthusiasm. 

So early in the morning, he did as he always did when she was angry; he rose early, completed half the day's schooling, then left a note promising to complete the rest upon his return.

Grabbing food and filling his canteen, Billy saddled his pony Windbag and took off for the day. Usually by the time of his return, Mary would’ve either forgiven or forgotten his transgression and welcome him back for supper.

It was midday when Billy pulled up Windbag under the shade of a giant tree alongside the river. Being already hot, Windbag didn’t wait and bent down low to fill his belly with the river water.

Sitting down against the stump of the tree with a wipe of his sweaty brow, he pulled out lunch with a glad sigh. 

Folk in the city would never know how good this felt.

Through the haze, he spotted a mountain duck and smiled with the thought of a present to help soothe things over with with his mother. Duck a l'orange?

Creeping quietly, Billy took out his rifle from Windbag’s saddle pack and moved for better cover. It had been years now since he’d received any instruction in hunting, but he’d kept all he’d been taught fresh in his mind and worked to continually hone his skills. He was a fair shot, but sometimes found made too much noise when moving in closer, alerting his prey before he could take the shot.

This time though, he had the perfect cover from the reeds on the bank. Crouching down, he tried to silently lay himself flat and propped his rifle easily in his hands. Calming his breathing, he guessed the distance, adjusted his sight, and lined up for his prize.

Breathing in, he squeezed the trigger.

The echo of the shot repeated around him but it was too late for the duck. Pleased, he jumped up and went to retrieve his kill. 

On his way, along the bank and through the thistles and reeds, the sudden snap of a branch had him swing up his rifle, “Who’s there?”

“You’re pretty good with that rifle, Pard.”

Billy lowered his rifle, “Buck? Buck Wilmington?”

Laughing loudly, Buck walked out from behind a tree, “That’s me!”

“Looking for this?” Billy turned to see JD holding his duck.

Billy looked from both of them, “What are you doing here?”

“Buck arrived in town last night,” JD answered then gestured to him, “We saw you slinking off just after dawn. Thought we’d tag along.”

“Dawn was six hours ago,” Billy said defensively, “You been spying on me?”

Buck laughed again, “Take it easy, Billy. JD and I were talking, enjoying the ride. We weren’t in a hurry to catch up, is all. When we heard the gunshot, well, we just wanted to make sure it was the duck being targeted, not you.”

JD smiled, “Nice shot, by the way.”

Billy returned his smile bashfully, “Thanks.”

“Well, kid, I ain’t seen you since I dropped off that fine gelding of yours. Don’t you got a hug for ol’ Buck?”

“I’m eleven years old now, Buck,” he extended his hand, “I’m a little old for hugs.”

Buck took his hand with a grin, “Well, well. You sound like you’re already older than JD.”

“Funny Buck,” JD snorted, handing over the duck. “Billy, there was another reason we followed you. Need to talk to you about something.”

Billy’s first thought was that something happened to his mother. But how could they’ve known that if they left town when he did? His next thought was about Chris. Had something happened to him?

“What is it? Please don’t make me wait.”

“Let’s go sit under that oak with the horses.”

Billy took Buck’s hand off his shoulder, “Tell me now.”

“It’s alright, Pard. Nothing like what you’re thinking.”

With a relieved sigh, Billy followed the two men back to where Windbag was tethered along with two other horses. Billy had no idea how they’d moved through the reeds so quickly to catch up to him without him noticing.

Buck and JD sat down on the rock and waved him to do so too.

With a flutter of forbearance, Billy flopped down next to them. 

This could not be good.

“Yesterday, your ma got a visit from a strange lady.”

Billy frowned at JD, “That happens all the time. Suffragettes dressed in trousers, chewing tobacco-”

“Not that kind of lady,” JD stopped him. “This one came with a book for your mother to sign. You see, someone in the city wrote a novel about your ma.”

Billy’s stomach dropped through the earth, “A n-novel?”

Buck leant forward, nailing him with his big eyes, “You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you Billy?”

“What makes you think I would?”

“Alright, Pard,” Buck said loudly, “Now, you gonna tell ol’ Buck here the truth. It was you who told all them things about your mama, wasn’t it?”

Billy swallowed but didn’t look away. Chris hadn’t just taught him about hunting, he’d also taught him about being strong when facing your mistakes, “Yes.”

Buck nodded, “Yes. You see JD here, Nathan and Ezra all received a book yesterday, left in their rooms with no witnesses. Now, we went through it, and couple parts no-one but Chris, your mama, and I knew about, nobody ‘cept you . . .”

 

The night was cool but clear and overhead the sky was a busy blanket of stars. Around their fire, Buck lay on his back, still and watched the stars wheel about him. Billy was also lying down but feining sleep. Buck could tell. No the boy wasn’t watching the stars.

He was watching them.

Chris had taken the first watch. Mary sat up with him.

They wasn’t talking anything important, just talking. Sometimes they’d laugh quietly together, telling the other ‘bout stories back from before they’d come to know each other.

Out there in the wilderness, it was about as a romantic a moment as one that could be had.

Billy’s attention didn’t drift; he watched them and Buck was no fool. There had always been hope in his young face but as time went on, Billy’s hope had turned impatient.

A boy of eight had no patience for the complexities of adults.

Buck turned his head enough to look at him; the kid was lying on his stomach, his eyes open and unwavering. The two subjects in his sights were sitting as they had been, close without touching, cradling mugs of warm coffee in their hands. Mary was quietly recounting the first terrifying encounter with a snake when she’d first come out from the city, and the dozen and a half rifle shots before the bloody thing finally gave up and slide off in the opposite direction.

“After that I took the time to learn how to use a gun. The bruises on my shoulder took weeks to clear up,” Mary laughed at herself. “The darn snake must’ve thought it was hilarious.”

Chris was smirking, “Laughing so hard he probably slid off to catch his breath.”

The dim light from the small fire lit enough to see the smiles and even that magic glint in their eyes. 

Buck turned back to the stars . . .

 

JD shook his head, “But why Billy?”

“I didn’t know what she was doing with the stories!” Billy’s guilt snapped and he couldn’t take not telling anymore, “mom wants to send me away, again! She says I’ve got to go to school next year, hundreds of miles away in the city. I thought if I earned enough money, I wouldn’t have to go; I could stay here! I could ranch and hunt, just like Chris, and take care of mama. I did work around for folk and earned. Then one day this lady comes and offered me three hundred dollars to tell her everything about the seven gunmen but mostly about mom and Chris. She even wanted to hear about grandpa. She was a lady so I thought it no harm. And I got the three hundred.”

“Alright,” Buck soothed, “alright. It’s alright, kid.”

“This was why mom was in a mood last night? She's gonna be so mad when she finds out.”

“It's Chris I'd be worried about,” JD admitted.

“But Chris, he doesn’t know about the book.”

“Really?” Buck crouched down lower, “Now how would you be so sure of a thing like that?”

Billy swallowed then looked up towards JD. Getting nothing from JD he faced Buck as a man would, “I lied. To my mama and to Chris. I told Chris I had mama’s permission to write him and I kept the letters hidden from her.” He pulled out the latest letter he’d received from Chris seven days ago from his pocket.

Buck took the letter, “This is addressed to you. How is it your mama didn’t see it?”

Billy sighed, “Ezra.”

 

“Frogsmith and Hurst Publishing thanks you for your interest. We have received an overwhelming response to Mrs Fletcher’s book, Champion of the Rose but regret that releasing any information regarding Mrs Fletcher is against our privacy charter.”

“So?” Inez grumbled from behind the saloon bar, “A dead stop?”

Mary folded up the telegram, “Not necessarily. If I was in San Fransisco I could do a proper investigation into this women. But it’s not, impossible from here. I will just have to be more resourceful.”

 

Ezra cleared his throat, “Billy and I had an agreement of sorts. I paid the mail clerk to reroute all mail directed to one Billy Travis of Four Corners to my own.”

Buck and JD had led Billy back into town and took a seat in the Saloon to confront Ezra, against Billy’s wishes. But he hadn’t been given a choice.

Nathan glared at Ezra, “And what did you get out of it?”

“That’s a secret,” Billy spoke up, “and gentlemen don’t go ‘round telling no secrets.”

Ezra smiled at Billy, “we keep each other's secrets, a mutual agreement.”

“And you don't think Mary’ll get the truth outta either one of you?”

“Unlike you, Mr Wilmington, I’m not afraid of Mary Travis.”

“Like hell you ain’t.”

“Language,” JD shook his head, “scared or not, Mary catch you using language like that around her son, she'll hunt you down like a deer.”

“I'm eleven, JD,” Billy groaned, “hear cussing all the time.”

“We're getting bit off track here,” Nathan sighed, “Tell us, Billy, why did you lie about writing to Chris? Don't believe for a minute it was his idea.”

“I had too.” Billy breathed in deeply and stood his ground, “because mama was angry when Chris left. Really sad. She cried all the time.”

Buck shuffled forward, “Well, your ma, she loved him.”

Billy backed away, worried he would tell her secret.

“It’s alright, son. We knew,” Nathan soothed.

Buck grinned, “Your ma and Chris? They was a force to be reckoned with. No-one with half a brain’d cross ‘em. Who’d dare ride into town with your ma and Chris paired up?”

“Chris didn’t love her,” Billy bit out.

He felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder, Buck stared down at him knowingly, “Didn’t he? Look, sometimes when a man’s been hurt real bad, it ain’t easy for him to love again. Don’t be so hard on him.”

Billy shook his head, “But don’t you see? That’s why I had to lie. I didn’t want her feeling angry or sad knowing me and Chris were still friends.”

“Pard, I think your mama would’ve been glad to know Chris still cared about you.”

“What would you know?”

“Billy,” Ezra cautioned, “Mr Wilmington might appear a great oaf but he's earned the right to your respect.”

Billy sighed with a nod, “Yes, sir.”

Buck looked surprised at Ezra but Ezra didn’t offer any more. 

Billy sighed, “The lady, the one who paid for the stories, she wanted to read the letters too. But I didn’t let her keep any of them. No matter how much money she offered.”

Buck held up the latest letter, “How many are there?”

“It has been three years Mr Wilmington and not more than six weeks went by without a new letter arriving,” Ezra nodded to him, “And young Billy had a new letter for me to send for him by the very next morning.”

“Thirty-three,” Billy answered succinctly.

Buck blinked, “thirty-three letters and not one to his oldest pal Buck.”

“But you bought the pony.”

Buck shrugged, “Yeah, but that’s because he ran into me heading south. Asked me to deliver here and say was from me.”

“Did it not strike you as a might strange that Mr Larabee would have you pretend the pony came from yourself?”

“I knew it was from Chris,” Billy put forth confidently between the men.

“Then why did you pretend to think it was from me?” Buck smacked his forehead, “Oh, that’s right, you and Chris’ secret note passing. And you just played along, letting me think I'd fooled ya.”

“I got question for you Billy,” Ezra fixed his hat, “in the book there is a heartwarming scene where Charlie sneaks into Bobby’s room and says goodbye. Your mother said that had not happened-”

“It did. That’s when I asked if I could write to him. He gave me the address to send my letters, a place he would pass by every couple of weeks. But he made me promise to get mama’s permission first.”

“But you didn’t?”

Billy was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath, “Chris says lying is bad, so does mama. But why is it so bad if when you want so bad to speak to someone who’s not there anymore but don’t want it to hurt someone else?”

Nathan patted his shoulder, “Sometimes lying seems okay but in the end, it’ll bite you in the rump.”

“Like now?” he conceded. “You think I should tell mama?”

“I think that’s best.”

“But won’t she be hurt?”

Ezra chuckled, “Son, your mother is a tough woman. You just occupy yourself on just how bad she is going to whip your backside for lying to her.”

“You lied too!”

“Thankfully she ain’t my mother.”

 

“Mama?”

“There you are, sweetheart,” she smiled and Billy hoped she was in a good mood. Punishment under a pre-existing bad mood was far worse than the opposite. “Are you hungry? Can I fix you something?”

He shook his head then sat down at the table, “Mama? Can you sit for a moment?”

She stood up tall in surprise and rushed forward, “What is it, honey?”

“Please? I have to tell you something and you’re going to be mad.”

“All right,” she pulled out a chair and sat down, “I will try to contain my anger long enough for you to explain yourself.”

Billy reached into his jacket, to the neat stack of letters tidily tied with twine. “Before I show you, please understand I didn’t want to lie but wanted so bad to be with him and I knew it would hurt you.” Tears welled in his eyes and he handed over his most prized possession.

Mary looked at the stack of letters, taking them gently, her brow low with a frown, “Honey, I don’t understand-”

She didn’t finish. She’d seen the return address. Her fingers moving quickly, she pulled out the top letter and looked straight at the bottom. 

Her face paled, “All-all this time?”

“I’m sorry-”

“Three years. Three years I’ve been praying for him to still be alive, and you never said a word?”

“Mom, I’m so sorry-” he broke off seeing her eyes fill with tears, and running down her face.

“How could you do this?” she covered her mouth to hide her sob.

Billy felt his own eyes well, “Mama, please.”

Abruptly, she threw herself up out of her chair and went to stand by the sink, her back to him. Billy saw her shoulders shake.

Breathing in, he carefully went to her and put his arm around her, “mama, please. I’m so sorry.”

“Why, Billy?” she gasped.

“I didn’t want you to hurt anymore.”

She gasped in between her sobs and pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly, “You’re in so much trouble.”

“I know.”

 

“And the pony? Was it really from Buck?”

Mary had eventually stopped crying and they’d retaken their seats at the table, “Please, mom, you won’t make me give him back?”

Mary sat back away from him, her eyes closed, “You told him you had my permission? You lied to him, you lied to me. What makes you think you’ve earned any leniency, young man?”

“I just wanted him to be my pa. I already lost my real one-”

“Billy.”

He stopped at the sternness in her voice.

She wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks then took a long time looking at the ceiling, “Billy, Chris is your friend. I wouldn’t have forbad you to write to him-”

“But I didn’t want you to hurt anymore.”

“Do not interrupt me. I will have to consider your punishment closely, for the moment however, you will write to Mr Larabee, telling him of what you’ve done.”

Billy swallowed. Chris did not approve of lying. “Please mama, no, he’ll be so angry.”

“And I am not?”

Billy shook his head, “Not like him.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Her eyes flashed with renewed anger, “You will do as you're told.”

Taking a cautious breath, he tried negotiation, “If I do this, I can keep Windbag?”

“I wouldn’t make you return a gift from a friend.” She handed back the letters, “But I will read your letter of apology to Mr Larabee before you send it, making sure you do it properly.”

He nodded, “Mama? There’s is something else. I don’t know if it’s as bad but I don’t think it will hurt you as bad.”

“Oh?”

He sucked in his breath then began quickly, “Last year a woman came looking for me. She wanted to know all about the seven gunfighters who once protected Four Corners, but mostly she wanted to know about you and Chris. I asked her why and she said she was looking for stories. She was a collector of stories.”

He looked up at his mother again, her face was stony, “I did it because she offered me three hundred dollars and because I thought the stories were harmless.”

“Tell me, what does a little boy want with three hundred dollars, Billy?”

The little boy remark injured him and he slunk his shoulders, “I was hoping to save enough money.”

“What for?”

“To buy a ranch, or at least put a down payment. Ezra’s been teaching me about money.”

“Ezra.”

“Please mama, I asked for his help.”

“Why do you want a ranch?”

Here was the hammer. He hesitated, “So I could stay here and earn enough to take care of you,” he stopped then muttered, “And not be sent away.”

Mary flinched but then rubbed her face, “My Billy-” she stopped, “going away for school is not the same as being sent away.”

“I know and I’m sorry, mom, but I it doesn’t seem like that to me. Just like when pa died, you said it was for the best-”

“It was for the best,” she reached over and took his hand, “this town was dangerous back then.”

“But you stayed.”

“That was to honour your father’s dream-”

“What about me?” he demanded as strongly as he dared, “Why couldn’t I have stayed to honour him? And what of Chris? He taught me everything; if I leave and I forget all he taught me?”

“Sweetheart,” Mary said softly, “if Chris or your father were here I’m sure they’d tell you the same thing-”

“But they’re not here! I am! I am the only one here to take care of you.”

“Billy?” she asked. 

“Chris came to see me the night before he left.”

“He did?” then she nodded, her lips quivering again, “as it was in the book.”

“He told me I had to look after you, like you look after me.”

“Oh, Billy,” she wiped her eyes, “I’m sure Chris didn’t mean it so literally. He just wanted you to help me out. He didn’t mean for you to take care of me like that.”

“Then who will take care of you like that? Even more after I go to school.”

“I will,” she squeezed his hand, “and miss you like crazy, counting day every hour until you come home.”

 

Mary sat alone, Billy had been sent to bed hungry, the duck he brought back laid on the benchtop untended. The hour had grown late, but she wasn’t tired.  Her mind, her thoughts centered around the last couple months before Chris vanished . . .

 

It had been weeks now since the incident with Governor Hopewell and finally the territory went to the booths.

The votes for the town were counted and sent on two days prior, and Mary was buzzing with nervous energy. This day would see the answer to the referendum. Would they become a state? Would all of Mary’s and all the other passionate people she’d worked with bring about a brighter future?

The town had voted for statehood by a pretty big margin, but how did the rest of the territory vote?

Mary spent an anxious morning floating around the telegraph office and main street, waiting for the final voting tallies. 

She was not the only one. A large crowd of residents waited around too. They’d been waiting all day. Mary’s fingers hurt from her constant wringing.

Across the street she spotted Chris coming straight out of the telegraph office. As the highest authority in the town with Judge Travis absent, it was his lackluster duty to report the results of the referendum. 

Chris did not share her enthusiasm for politics, content to go along with whatever she said, often saying hers was the brighter mind. It was complete load of hooey; an excuse to avoid talking about politics. He was just as smart as she was; he just didn’t like people knowing that.

Mary rushed across the street to catch him, “Chris?”

“Mary,” he continued walking and the crowd gathered together outside to hear his announcement.

“Well?”

Chris raised his brow, “Well what?”

“What’s the result?”

“How should I know, haven’t read it.”

“Then let me,” Mary tried to take the telegram from him.

Raising his hand, he easily dodged her, “I think you can wait a minute longer.”

She grinned despite herself, trying again for the paper this time on her tippy-toes, “Come on, Chris. Please.” 

Being a head taller, she had no chance, “Sorry, Mary. You’ll just have to wait like everybody else.”

That look in his eye-, “You did read it, didn’t you? It’s a yes?”

He shrugged and climbed the steps to stand up on the highest part of the boardwalk. Mary sideled in beside him, her hands felt like they were shaking so was so nervous.

“Voting is complete,” Chris announced loudly, stoically and Mary felt like she could strangle him, “and the verdict reached.”                                        

The crowd went silent, waiting with bated breath.

He unfolded the telegram, “seventy-eight percent; for.”

Shouts of cheers and the flying of hats filled the main street. They’d won!

Relief and overwhelming joy flooded through Mary’s and without thinking she flung herself into his arms, squealing in delight.

He caught her and she embraced him strongly, practically dancing against him. Standing back, her face felt like it would shatter from the sheer force of her smile, “We won, Chris. We won!”

“You won,” he told her, “This is your doing.”

She laughed and threw her arms around him again.

 

Over the following month, Mary’s work grew so much she’d had to take on a secretary and a young feller to work the press just to keep up. So many changes were happening now. 

But upon one quiet afternoon, Mary had some spare time and sat down to the pile of sewing in desperate need of tending. It was peaceful work, allowing her mind to settle and reorder her thoughts and she allowed time to pass by without regret.

A sudden noise came from behind her and she assumed Billy was home early, “I’m almost done, honey. Come try it on.”

“Don’t think it’ll fit.”

Mary looked over her shoulder in surprise, “Chris? I thought you were Billy.” With the influx of new people to Four Corners, her home had become a second meeting utility for the town’s peacekeepers since the saloon was now far too crowded for any sort of official talk . . . at a reasonable volume. While they’d initially resisted, Chris and the others were now accustomed to wandering in without invitation. 

Just like now. 

There was that wry look to his eyes she’d always found charming, “Sure hope so otherwise you got the size all wrong.”

Mary laughed, waving him to take a seat with her, “Billy’s getting so big now. I could’ve had the haberdasher let the seams out, but sometimes it’s nice to do things yourself.”

“I’m surprised you still have the time.”

“First and foremost, I am a mother,” she grinned, “My Billy always comes first.”

“He’s a lucky boy.”

“He’s lucky to have us both,” she counted lightly filling a mug with coffee. “How was the road?”

“Busy. So many wagons, like a miles-long train,” he took the mug she held out for him. “Thanks.”

“More settlers bring more money. It’s progress.”

Chris scoffed, “So I’ve been told.”

“And Oren?”

“Fine. Practically peacocking now we brought him the rest of the Kelly gang.”

Mary smiled fondly, “Apparently he’s been bragging around the circuit, telling how his seven hired men have brought in more longstanding outlaws than any marshal or bounty-hunter in the last two years.”

Chris nodded but there was something he was not saying.

“Chris?”

He took a long drink of his coffee, “Good coffee.”

“Thank you,” she studied his face but the perplexing look had quickly disappeared from his face and then as they usually did, fell into easy conversation again. Chris was not known as a man of many words, but when he was with her, they could talk until dawn. And longer. Far gone was the two people who’d met during a lynching party shot their way through the town.

And although still she ached in ways she'd not known before, caused by the devastating love she held for him, Mary was still content enough with the life they ‘somewhat’ shared. Of course, she’d always yearn for more, but came to accept friendship was all they would ever have together.

It was a friendship she prized more than any other.

“ . . . Stephen was, an understanding man,” she was laughing, trying not to blush in embarrassment, “when we were planning our big move out here, he promised we’d get a maid to cook and clean. He tried to make it sound innocent but I knew what he was saying. I could see it in his eyes, ‘Mary, you can’t cook!’” She shook her head at the memory, grinning broadly, “When I called him on it, he tried to deny it. Said he was being a considerate husband and freeing up my time to help out with the paper. But I told him no, I would learn to do things right. I’d learn to be the good wife and mother, and become domesticated. Oh, you should have seen his face; fear. Stephen thought he’d be eating goop not fit for a dog.”

Chris laughed easily along with her, “But you learnt?”

“I did. Cook, clean, sew, the whole nine yards! And you know, I really did want to do it. I know you wouldn’t think me the type-”

“You wanted to take care of your family. I can understand that.”

Mary’s smile warmed, “I did the best I could.”

“I think you did good.”

Her heart swelled, “thanks, Chris.” She set aside her sewing, “Billy will be home soon. Stay for supper?”

“Well-”

“Good,” she beamed, unwilling to accept anything but a yes. 

“Thank you, Mary,” he gave in with a gentle softening in his eyes . . .

 

And the very next morning, Chris Larabee was gone. No goodbye, no note. Nothing. Mary wiped away yet another tear. Getting up from her seat, her backside and legs asleep from so long unmoving, she hobbled over to gather a tray of food and the last of the day’s milk, and headed to Billy’s room with it. 

Chris had meant so much to Billy, in a way they’d become reliant on each other. They helped to heal each other's wounds, something Mary was never able to do. How could she truly blame Billy for what he’d done? He needed Chris so bad but was torn between that need and his need to look after her. It burned a hole in her knowing he lied because he’d thought to protect her from more pain.

It was unfair Billy had to carry the weight of her own grief. Opening the door to his room, she took in the tray. At least he would not go hungry because of it.


End file.
